Events
by Jacinda
Summary: NS Fluff - Nick's POV: I plan events that I don't think she realizes are events
1. Events

She had a hold on me that I could never quite describe. She didn't ask me to put my arm around her when we watched movies; she never asked me to grab the bill for all our breakfasts, lunches, and dinners before she saw the price. She didn't even have to ask me to bring her two packets of sugar for her coffee instead of one. I just did these things without a second thought.

Our coworkers never thought to label it as a relationship. I'm not even sure if she believes that it is something more than a 'rock solid friendship.' What she doesn't know is that I secretly believe that it just might be something more. I believe that there might be a part of her brain that believes that I am 'the one' . . . the only one . . . the one that she never quite saw as anything other than a coworker, friend, or whatever.

She doesn't seem to notice that when she's in the room I begin to ramble off scientific fact just to keep my imagination at bay. She doesn't notice the way I nervously wipe my palms on my pants; my hands have always sweat when I was nervous. She doesn't see what I imagine to be something similar to the perfect relationships we watch in the 'chick-flicks' she's secretly obsessed with.

Sometimes, I pause to make sure that this is really only in my imagination because sometimes I swear to God that she looks at me with the same complete adoration that I have for her. Sometimes, I think I see a sparkle in her eyes when she's talking to me, but I have to pause to remember that sometimes the evidence can make her eyes sparkle too.

I have written letters to her that I am afraid to send. They are stacked neatly in my sock drawer. I have sequestered them in the back corner because sometimes I am tempted to send them. Sometimes, I hold the stack of letters in my hand and wonder what she would think of me if I handed them to her in the middle of the lab with everyone watching. I wonder if she would smile; I wonder if she would look at me repulsed. The reactions that I have conjured in my mind are what scare me. I've had nightmares about this a million times. It's kept me from giving her those letters a million times.

I have tried to forget, but her presence is unavoidable. Even on her worst days, I have found myself feeling concerned rather than annoyed. On her worst days, I have tried to make sure that we have breakfast at a nicer place or that we rent her favorite movie. I have spent a lot of time wondering if she notices. I wonder if she knows that I put a considerable amount of time into planning events that she doesn't realize are events. I'm always drawn back to her.

"Nick, I heard you had a rough case last night," she says as she places a grande Columbian premium blend coffee in front of me . . . cream, but no sugar.

"Yah, it was a little bit of a long night," I reply awkwardly as if she might be able to read what my mind was fixated on only seconds earlier.

"I thought we could do something different this morning . . . how about steak and eggs at that place you like," she says as she sits down next to me. I notice immediately that she doesn't have any coffee. She sips her coffee so there is no way that she finished it during the short drive from the coffee shop to the lab.

"Thanks, but I know you . . . you hate almost everything on that menu," I reply.

"I'll find something . . . anyways, it's my treat," Sara says with a smile. I wonder if maybe she plans events that I don't realize are events.


	2. Crystal Ball

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the reviews - because everyone has been so nice, I've decided to continue this story for a few more chapters. Thank you again for all the feedback. Hope you enjoy a little angst that I promise will turn into some fluff - Jac.

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I fidget with the salt and pepper shakers while I listen to Sara tell me about her case. I'm not really listening to her; I'm listening to the inner turmoil that never seems to quiet itself. I'm not sure what has me more upset this morning . . . my case or knowing that I am too damn scared to send her a drawer full of letters.

She notices because she swiftly takes away the salt and pepper shakers. Sara places a hand over mine and smiles. She wants me to talk, but this is one of the first times in my life that I don't want to talk. I don't want to say the wrong words. I don't want to find out if Sara could reject me within a second flat. I don't want to talk about child molestation cases. I don't want to talk about my childhood. I've always wondered if she would think less of me if she knew that I was molested. I know that there is a part of my brain that has always secretly blamed myself for not saying no. The rest of my brain rationalizes that I was too young to even know what was going on. I wish my brain would just savor the silence for a few minutes. I wish it would let me take in how Sara looks this morning, what shirt she is wearing, and how her presence makes me forget that I have all these dark secrets.

"Where were you?" she asks as she squeezes my hand.

"Just lost in thought. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to ignore you," I apologize.

"What's wrong? You look like hell, Nick," Sara inquires. She has always been the observant one. Sara's elegance with people has always been on the shaky side, but she's always acutely aware of what the people around her are feeling. She doesn't always know what to do about it, but she's always aware. It's an odd comfort to know that I don't have to explain my every mood to her. Sometimes, Sara knows what I'm feeling before I'm even sure how I feel.

"Just tired," I reply. It sounds lame. It doesn't sound at all believable. I know Sara doesn't believe it because she just shot me 'that' look. It's as if she can see through all the smoke and mirrors that I put up to make everyone else at the lab believe I am this continually happy-go-lucky creature. I'm far from being that creature.

"Nick, you don't have to lie to me. Something is bothering you," Sara replies. Sometimes, I think she has a crystal ball. Her intuition is scary because it is always right on target. Maybe it's that I have a face that reads like a book. I doubt that because no one else in the lab seems to see my moods. Only she can.

"Why do we do this?" I ask. It's such a vague question that I'm not sure if she will understand.

"Work, breakfast, or life?" Sara asks. She must have looked into her crystal ball again because I want to tell her my answer is all of the above.

"Everything," I reply just a little too honestly. I'm talking before I even realize that my mouth is open.

"I don't know. Life would be so much easier if I had the answers to those questions. My counselor said something about trying to fill a void in my past, my present, or maybe my future," Sara replies. I know why I'm a crime scene investigator as opposed to a police officer or detective. I couldn't stand to see the faces of abuses and molested children. I spent two years of my life angry and confused. I jumped at the chance to be trained as a CSI. I couldn't look at the sadness in the children's eyes anymore. It reminded me too much of my own sadness. As a police officer, I wanted to help them, but it was always too late to prevent the memories from being seared into their brains.

"Always the optimist, Sara," I tease, but it doesn't really sound like I'm teasing. It sounds like I'm bitter . . . I'm angry.

"That's your job. I'm the hardened, cynical one. Now, let's cut the bull-shit philosophy and move on to what you are really thinking," Sara says. I quiet for a minute while the waitress places our meals in front of us.

"Do you ever feel like you are caught in a relationship purgatory?" I ask once the waitress leaves our table.

"How so?" Sara asks with a raised eyebrow.

"A relationship that doesn't exist anywhere besides your imagination," I reply.

"Who is she?" Sara asks a little more seriously. She asks as if she wants to give me advice on how to win over the woman that lives only in my imagination.

"You don't want to know," I reply.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," Sara replies. I can tell that she's generating a list in her head. I want to tell her it's much simpler than that. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. I've never prepared for the possibility of actually telling Sara that I've spent the better part of four years thinking about her every night before I fall asleep. I think about her a lot. I plan events that she doesn't see as events; I think of the little things that might bring her comfort. I have essentially fully committed myself to a woman that doesn't realize that she has my faithfulness in the palm of her hand.

"Sara," I say knowing that she will probably think I'm just telling her to back off a little bit.

"Sorry, Nick. I don't mean to act like a shrink. I just don't like seeing you this miserable. Whoever she is . . . she's lucky. If she doesn't realize that, she's stupid," Sara replies with a smile.

How do I tell her that she already has the answer to her question?


	3. Show Me

We are at my house. She rented a variety of action movies that I know she doesn't like; they all happen to be ones that I have raved about when we go to rent movies. I didn't think that she was listening, but I guess I was wrong . . . that or she is looking in her crystal ball again.

Her head is against my shoulder. She's been asleep for over half of the movie. I haven't watched much of the movie. I've been watching Sara sleep. She looks so innocent when she is sleeping. She looks content. It's not unusual for her to fall asleep during the movies we rent; it is pretty abnormal for her to stay awake through an entire movie. It's abnormal for me to fall asleep.

It's already noon. I'm tired, but I don't want to risk waking her. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. Sleep doesn't come. Sleep has never come easily for me. I spend hours thinking; my brain thinks so loudly that I have frequent sleepless afternoons. My brain is screaming at me to wake her up and tell her that I'm sick of purgatory. Another much more reasonable part of my brain is telling me to carry her into my bedroom so she can get enough sleep before we have to go back to work. It tells me to sleep on the couch and behave myself. I always listen to the very reasonable part of my brain.

Her sleeping form is light in my arms. Despite her drowsiness, she tucks her head against my shoulder as I try to maneuver us down the narrow hallway. I place her in my bed. I cover her with a light blanket making sure that she is comfortable before I try to leave the room.

I watch her for a moment. Her chest is slowly rising. I try to restrain from waking Sara just to tell her that it's her . . . it's her that I was talking about this morning. I try to satisfy myself by pushing a few strands of hair off her cheek. Her skin is like fine china; it's soft and a beautiful shade of ivory despite all the sun in Las Vegas. Each time I touch her, waves of electricity run through my body. It only reinforces my desire to wake Sara.

I retreat to the couch. I pace the room before I decide that I must at least make an effort to sleep. Like normal, sleep doesn't come. I think about how I feel when I touch her. I think about how it is very possible that I love her without even having her as my own. Besides my family, I had never allowed myself to love a woman. I saw how unhappy loving my father made my mother. My father's problem is that he allowed himself to love too many women. Love made my mother a miserable, desperate woman. At a young age, I learned that love did nothing but make people do crazy things. It made my mother sit up every night waiting for my father to return home from a 'business' dinner. It made my father harbor woman in various apartments across the city.

My eyelids begin to lower, but I hear movement in what should be my very quiet house. I sit up to see that she is standing in front of me. It must scare her because she jumps backward with a startled gasp. She looks at me as if she's trying to decide whether to laugh or hit me.

"Where are you going?" I ask in a groggy voice. I'm hoping that my hoarseness is due to a few hours of sleep that I don't remember getting.

"We have to go to work in about an hour," Sara says. Now, I'm praying that I got at least an hour of sleep. I let myself fall back into the couch at a faster velocity than I anticipated. "You feeling okay?" Sara asks as she instinctively puts her hand to my forehead.

"Just exhausted," I reply.

"How do you feel about playing hooky?" Sara asks with a devilish grin.

"How do you feel about being unemployed if Grissom finds out?" I reply. Sara shakes her head. I should have guessed that she was a bad influence in high school. Sara smiles as if she is able to read my mind.

"He's not going to find out. Do you really think he'd fire his favorite CSI?" Sara teases as she runs her fingers through my hair.

"It's great that you'll be able to keep your job, but what about me?" I reply. Sara laughs.

"Come on, Stokes. Let's have a little fun. I haven't had a night off in about two weeks . . . since Catherine went on vacation," Sara begs.

"What did you want to do?" I ask. I can't believe that I'm actually considering taking the night off. I rationalize that we have all been over worked since Catherine and Warrick mysteriously took vacations at the same time. They were going to be back at work tonight; Grissom would never have to know.

"I've never watched the water show at the Bellagio," Sara suggests.

"You've lived in Vegas for over four years. What else haven't you done?" I ask as sit up. She's laughing at me.

"I've spent too much of my time trying to impress Grissom . . . I know more about insects than is healthy. Show me Vegas, Nicky," Sara says as she sits next to me, "Take me home so I can shower . . . then show me Vegas." Her lips are only inches from mine. I don't know if it's an invitation or . . . I don't know what else it would be. My heart is racing.

"You're calling Grissom," I reply after drawing in a deep breath.

"Fine," Sara says as she pulls out her cellphone and dials, "Griss, yah it's me. Nick and I won't be in tonight. Food poisoning at this steakhouse downtown. Yah, really bad. Sure. Okay. Yah."

"Grissom says that we should take Pepto Bismol and drink a lot of water," Sara says with a smirk as she turns off her cellphone, "Go shower so we can hit the road."

In my mind, I begin to plan events that for once Sara will see as events.


	4. Insecurities

A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews. I'm having a blast writing this. It's nice to write something sweet and sexy for once (rather than the dark, heavy pieces I normally write). Thanks again for all the reviews :) -Jac

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Without even trying she is beautiful. She only made me wait for forty-five minutes, but she came out of her bedroom looking like she had spent the entire day planning what to wear and how to wear her hair. I tell her that she looks nice; she blushes as if she has never had anyone tell her that before.

I did as I promised. I showed Sara how Vegas can glitter against the black velvet sky of the Nevada desert. Sara even said that 'this' Vegas' is so different from the Vegas that we see on a daily basis. I swear to God that Sara managed to loosen up and have fun. She is smart, brilliant, and funny when she begins to loosen up and forgets the faces of the victims. It's a 'Sara' that I know I will miss come morning.

We stand near the Bellagio fountains watching the water dance to Italian love songs. She stands in front of me. Sara leans back slightly against my chest. She's shivering so I wrap my suit jacket around her and gently rub her arms in an effort to warm her up. She relaxes a little more causing her to lean against me a little heavier. Her hair smells of lavender.

"Why haven't we done this before?" Sara asks as the water continues to dance against the backdrop of the ornate Italian architecture.

"I don't know," I reply. No one ever said that Sara was a subtle girl.

"Thank you. I don't think I have thanked you for showing me what goes on at night besides murder, rape, and all the other things that we see," Sara says with a sigh, "I wanted you to be talking about me this morning . . . it sounds stupid because I'm me and you could do so much better."

Sometimes, her insecurities are blinding. There are brief moments when I remember that Sara puts on a grand act at work. She pretends to be tough and detached from the cases. Sara pretends that things aren't personal. In the last two years, the façade has been fading. There have been brief moments when I see her insecurities, her fear, her passion. I don't think the others see this; I don't think she lets her guard down in front of them.

"Sara, I think I'd be lucky to have you. I think you are silly to assume that it wasn't you because it's always been you," I ramble. I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her closer to me.

"You don't have to lie to me," Sara responds. It is the response that I was expecting. She spent so much time trying to pursue a man that did nothing but turn her away. He whittled down her self-confidence to nothing more than a sliver. She believes that she is not worth a man's time. Hank didn't do her any favors either.

"I'm not lying to you. I could never lie to you," I whisper in her ear, "I'm glad you talked me into playing hooky."

"Nick, are you sure?" Sara asks.

"I'm sure," I reply. My heart is pounding because I know that she is probably having second thoughts. It's Sara's nature to have second thoughts. It's her nature to constantly doubt herself and others.

"The show is over," Sara says with a tinge of sadness in her voice. The people around us are disbursing to wherever their next stop is. I'm still holding Sara. I'm reluctant to let her go.

"I know. I should get you home," I reply.

"Nick, I don't want to be alone tonight. I'm sick of always being alone," Sara whispers so softly that I can barely hear her. For a moment, I wonder if her confession is prompted only by loneliness and isolation. I wonder if it was well thought out I like mine, but it feels as though she's let her body rest in my arms. Maybe it's that I provide her with a security that she's never known . . . a place where she doesn't have to pretend anymore.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask as I finally release her from my arms, but she doesn't move.

"I don't know," Sara says. There is so much sadness in her voice; there is so much fear.

"Discovery channel at your place?" I offer.

"Sure, that sounds good," Sara says as she turns around to face me. I instinctively push a few of her curls behind her ears. Sara has a look of complete terror plastered on her face. I don't even know what to say to tame that terror. I know she's afraid of being hurt. She's been hurt so many times before.

"Hey, stop that. I'm not going to hurt you, Sara. I'm not going to be like Grissom or Hank," I say before I realize that I am talking. She looks up at me and tries to smile, but I can still see the fear in her eyes.

"I know . . . I know you wouldn't hurt me," Sara stammers. Again, her insecurities blind me.

"You're cold," I say awkwardly, "Come on. We can pick up hot chocolate on the way."

She smiles. She tells me that I'm a good man. Sara thanks me again. I'm not sure what she is thanking me for, but it's better than the awkward silence that I was expecting. My heart is still pounding because I am still wondering what Sara is thinking. My best guess is that she is wondering if she is still sleeping . . . if this is a dream. She probably wasn't expecting me to say that I was talking about her this morning. She was probably expecting me to turn her down just as I was expecting her to do the same.

My hand is trembling slightly. My heart is still racing. I begin to wonder if this is all some sort of colossal mistake. I begin to wonder if I'm wrecking what has always been a good friendship. In a lot of ways, Sara is the best friend that I ever had. I don't want to lose that, but I don't know if I could have left it as only a friendship forever. I'm guessing that Sara is thinking the same thing.

The drive back to Sara's apartment is filled with excruciating silence followed by awkward conversation. I'm grateful for the monotonous blare of the television. I'm grateful that Sara rests her head against my shoulder like she always does. I kiss the top of her head and tell her that I had a great time tonight. I tell her that she looks beautiful. Sara sits up and smiles. She asks if I'm mad at her. I know it is because Grissom had taken a very passive aggressive approach to her feelings for him. I tell her that I'm not mad; I remind her again that I'm not like Grissom. She smiles as she relaxes a little more. I'm sure she's repeating those words to herself . . . he's not like Grissom.

I kiss her. Her lips are soft as rose petals against mine. My heart is racing so fast that I'm sure I'm going to have a heart attack. She places a hand over my heart and tells me to relax. I wonder if her heart is racing the same way mine is. She's almost a completely different person when she begins to forget about Grissom. Sara becomes a quiet, feminine woman that seems to want nothing more than to be wanted by someone. I've always felt the same way about wanting to be wanted.

She moans as I gently kiss the line of her jaw. Her voice is throaty as she whispers my name. The scene is reminiscent of being a teenager again as I hungrily explore the lines of her neck and jaw. I try to memorize every line and angle just in case this might be a dream or Sara has regrets in the morning.

"Tell me when to stop," I whisper in her ear.


	5. Feminine

She busies herself trying to unbutton my shirt. I'm shocked that she hasn't pushed me away; I'm shocked that she isn't having second thoughts about the rapid progression of things. I rationalize that four years of our kind of flirting is probably enough foreplay for a million years. Four years have been more than enough for me.

There's something graceful about Sara. The moment she allowed herself to be free from her clinical approach to the world, she moved her lips against mine like no other has. Sara touches me with a soft, non-goal oriented touch. Her fingers move of a faltering grace that is beautiful in its impreciseness. It's as if she is living in the moment for the first time in her life.

Sara sits up. Her hair is a mess. In the dim glove of the television, I can see that she is breathing heavily. She smiles that lopsided smile. In her eyes, I can see that she isn't over-analyzing or letting the overly rationale part of her brain talk her out of this. In the last few hours, she seemingly has left twenty years of baggage fall to the wayside.

"I've wanted this for a long time . . . maybe even since the first day that I met you," Sara says, "For the longest time, I believed that bullshit about you being a ladies man. You're not . . . you are the only person that has ever been patient with me. You are the only person that has ever been concerned with my feelings."

"Sara, we can stop. You don't have to rationalize doing something that you don't want to," I reply as I run a hand through her hair to make her curls once again work with gravity.

"Nick, I'm not rationalizing. I just want you to know . . . I want you to know that I care about you. I want you to know that you are a good person. We don't get much of that praise around the lab. People don't give you credit for how good of a person you are," Sara replies. I'm not sure what to say. There's a huge lump in my throat because I haven't gotten praise like that in a very long time. Last time I heard that was sometime before I became 'the CSI that sleeps with hookers.'

"I want you to know that. You always have taken the time to make me feel special. God knows you are the only one to ever do that," Sara replies as she leans forward and softly kisses my lips. "Come on."

I follow her to her bedroom. She continues to unbutton my shirt. Sara moves so slowly and deliberate. The moonlight pours into the room, but it casts only a dim glow. It makes her skin appear like ivory.

Her strip-tease is slow and sensual. It's something that I would have never expected out of Sara Sidle. Everything about her is more feminine and soft that I could have ever imagined. She's a slow and gentle lover. She wraps herself in my arms before falling asleep. I kiss the back of her head and allow myself to fall asleep.

We wake the next morning to both of our cellphones ringing. Sara answers her phone before I can figure out which pile of clothing on the floor contains mine. She silently mouths to me that it's Grissom.

"Umm . . . I'm feeling a little better. I'll probably be at work tonight . . . . I'm not sure. He's still asleep. Yah, he stayed over here because I got pretty sick last night. You don't have to. That's very sweet, but I'm not sure if we'll feel like eating," Sara said to Grissom. I had to smirk at how she was able to manipulate him. It was only fair; he spent so many years manipulating her. "I'll tell Nick. I'll see you tonight."

"Grissom was worried because we didn't answer our phones last night when he called to check in. Oddly sweet," Sara said with an arched eyebrow as I finally uncovered my phone. I slid back in bed next to her.

"How are you feeling this morning?" I ask cautiously.

"Good. You could have just asked if I was having second thoughts," Sara said with a smile. Again with the crystal ball.

"Are you having second thoughts?" I ask as I run my finger down her arm.

"You would have been out on the doormat if I was," Sara said with a laugh, "I like this."

"Good because I like this too," I reply as I kiss the dime-size spot on her neck that seemed to be extra sensitive last night.

"I could probably get used to this," Sara teased as I positioned myself on top of her.

"Good," I reply.

Our day was spent relaxing in Sara's apartment. Her police scanner wasn't turned on the entire day. We made breakfast and lunch together. Sara even tried to explain the finer points of vegetarianism to me. I tried to explain to her that there wasn't a chance in hell of that happening. She went with me to my house so I could change clothes before shift.

Before we walked into the lab, I thanked her for being my best friend. Sara said that she was glad that I waited for her.

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A/N: Thanks again for all the kind reviews. I'm not sure if this is the end of the story - I like the last two sentences as a closer. But if you all want more, I'll try to come up with a plot for future chapters (or if you all have any ideas let me know). I have an exam on Monday, so I probably won't have a chance to update until Tues or Wed.

Thanks for reading (and reviewing), Jac


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